


Anomalies

by thisbluespirit



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination Attempt(s), Bodyguard, Captured by enemy while trying to protect the other, Character A undertakes a dangerous mission and Character B's job is to keep them alive through it, Combat Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24094384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: Padmé Amidala is an a former Queen without a planet.  Obi-Wan Kenobi is a former Jedi Padawan who never became a Knight and doesn’t fit in with the AgriCorps.  But sometimes, if you put two anomalies together, what you get is a force to be reckoned with.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 89
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Anomalies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).



> From this prompt, which intrigued me: _AU where Padme gets taken to Coruscant first instead of needing to detour to Tatooine and gets stuck in Senate bureaucracy and thus doesn't end the blockade and is now a figurehead queen with Obi-Wan as her bodyguard._
> 
> With many thanks to evelyn_b for the beta!

_Now_

Walking into the trap had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it seemed there had been one vital error in his calculations. Now Obi-Wan was left standing in darkness and silence in the sealed room with plenty of time to contemplate his mistake.

The trap had been set for him, not Padmé. 

It was a perfectly understandable oversight, of course. People so often _did_ want to kill her, and it was his job to ensure that they failed. They weren’t usually interested in him unless he happened to be standing in the way.

Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling that he was in for an unpleasant time. He only hoped it wouldn’t take Padmé long to get him out again. It was probably too much to hope that she wouldn’t do anything too risky in the process. 

Of course, if Padmé had proper ideas about her personal safety, she would leave Ytris I without him, but he’d given up on any expectation of that kind of sensible behaviour after the first week in her employ. Probably sooner.

(Once before he had been imprisoned and trapped, and nobody had ever come. He was not thinking about that. Things were different now.)

* * *

_One Year Before_

Padmé lowered the datapad and stared out of the long transparisteel window. It wasn’t as if the Supreme Chancellor’s message would improve if she read it over a sixth time. The words swam around in her head anyway even when she wasn’t looking.

 _… it wouldn’t do to have people think you were getting_ paranoid _, my dear. You don’t want to lessen what remains of your influence. One of my aides spoke to Building Maintenance personally and they assure me that the business with the elevator was nothing more than an unfortunate accident…_

The apartment was smaller than the royal suite she’d once occupied, but still too large for her now that her entourage consisted only of herself, T-4NU, a rotating Senate Guard that she didn’t want anyway, and her astromech droid. She didn’t think about the bustling, warm family home that had been too many parsecs out of her reach for years. It did no good.

And it was no good getting annoyed with the Chancellor, either, because where would she be without Palpatine’s help? He had requisitioned this place for her as a personal favour and shared her sorrow over Naboo’s fate, even if he never seemed to be able to fight the rest of the Senate long enough to put it right. Nevertheless, Padmé had to admit that increasingly the need to be grateful to him choked her. Merely thinking about it made her fingers itch.

She turned, venting her frustration with a short cry and threw the datapad at the wall – realising too late that somebody was standing in its line of flight.

“If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” said Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, catching the datapad easily. He gave it a mildly curious look before glancing up again. His mouth twitched in amusement as he stretched out his hand to return the item. “Your highness. I apologise if I disturbed you – the door was open and then you flung this at my head.”

Padmé felt her cheeks heat at being caught in the middle of such a childish moment of anger. A Jedi would _never_ do something like that, she thought, and wanted to laugh, her irritation easing. 

“Not at all,” she said, sliding smoothly back into diplomatic mode with a dignified nod of acknowledgement. “It’s been too long, Master Jinn. And Padmé will do. My term ended several years ago. Now I’m merely an anomaly, belonging nowhere.”

“Of course,” he said, with a small bow. “I’m only sorry we couldn’t do more for you at the time.

Padmé nodded, and turned away to direct T-4NU to fetch some refreshments, before returning her attention to Qui-Gon. He was even taller than she remembered. She was going to get a crick in her neck if this conversation was too prolonged. “What brings you to see me? Something tells me it can’t be a social call.”

“Not exactly, no,” he said and gave a short laugh. “You’re right, I have a favour to ask – but if you’ll hear me out, I believe it may be of benefit to you, too.”

“Oh?” Padmé gestured to the nearby sofa for Qui-Gon to sit. To her relief, he did, and she followed suit. 

“I gather you’ve been having security issues,” he said.

Security issues was one way of putting it. When she’d still been Queen, the Trade Federation had made several blatant attempts either to kill her or forcibly return her to Naboo. Her people had successfully seen them all off, with some help from the Senate Guard and even the Jedi on occasion. The attempts had slowed once her term had ended and fallen away even more once Naboo had finally elected its new Queen. With the Trade Federation overseeing the election, there had been no doubt about signing the treaty, which had technically ended the occupation. Technically, however, being the word. 

Padmé’s testimony as witness before several Senate committees and later at the Trade Federation’s trial had made her a target again, but now those had been lost, she was of no importance. Nevertheless, the Trade Federation kept trying to kill her again at regular intervals. She would call their persistence endearing, if there was anything she could ever find endearing about the Trade Federation. It wasn’t as if anyone else cared much what she did any more.

The most recent incident, regardless of what building maintenance or the Chancellor said, had been the tampering with the north elevator in the building. She had not been killed, but it had been no thanks to the Senate Guard on duty that day. She might be capable of saving herself, but it would be nice to think that the people entrusted with her safety were competent.

“You’re not offering me Jedi protection, are you?” she said, laughing. She was no longer important enough to warrant attention from beings as grand as the Jedi Council, surely?

Qui-Gon said, “As it happens I am, although not officially. You will, I trust, recall my former Padawan?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi?” she said, raising her eyebrows. She did, but not well – in the brief time she had been under the protection of the Jedi, she had chiefly spent her time with Qui-Gon as the Master. His Padawan had made an impact on one or two of her handmaidens, but she had had no time for such nonsense back then.

“He’s proving to be something of an anomaly, too,” said Qui-Gon.

“A failed Jedi,” said Sabé when Padmé related the tale that evening over a few snacks. “Marvellous. An offer you couldn’t possibly refuse, I suppose?”

Padmé shook her head at her former handmaiden and decoy double. Sabé was the only member of her royal retinue who was still on Coruscant. The others were… busy. “It’s not like that. Master Qui-Gon didn’t say very much about what happened, but I don’t think it was a straightforward matter. Anyway, he can’t be worse than the Senate Guards. Besides, as Kenobi is a member of the Jedi Order, I don’t have to pay for anything other than his upkeep. For the time being, anyway.”

“Like I said,” Sabé returned with a grimace. “An offer you couldn’t refuse. There’s got to be a catch. Do you think someone’s onto us?”

Padmé speared a Jogan fruit and frowned. “It doesn’t seem likely. I can’t imagine the Jedi would have any reason to disapprove even if they did know. And it’s been a while, but I am inclined to trust Qui-Gon. I think he was just concerned for his former Padawan. I can understand that.”

“Don’t the Jedi have places they send people who don’t make it?” said Sabé, waving a Juja cake vaguely to one side, heedless of the crumbs she scattered on the cushions. “Various Corps, or whatever they’re called? Why don’t they want this one?”

Padmé shrugged. “Qui-Gon only said he didn’t really fit in back in the AgriCorps.”

“See?” said Sabé and bit into her Juja cake. “A catch. I told you.”

Padmé sighed. “You’re probably right, but what else could I say? Even my elevator has got it in for me. I could use _some_ help, and you can’t come back. I need you out there.” She gestured toward the window and the endless lights of Coruscant flickering against the clouded night sky.

Padmé's thoughts drifted back to Qui-Gon’s reaction earlier when she’d asked how Obi-Wan had come to fail in his Trials. All he’d said was, “If he tells you, let me know.”

It wasn’t very reassuring.

“It’s like second-hand spaceships,” said Sabé, bringing Padmé’s attention back to the present. She giggled, putting a hand to her mouth as she nearly choked on the last of her cake. “I only hope parts don’t fall off him, as well!”

* * *

_Now_

Obi-Wan couldn’t sense anything. That was impossible. He closed his eyes and focused, but felt nothing around him. Whether his eyes were opened or closed he saw nothing but darkness. There was no sound.

The room, he reminded himself, had been square, fairly small, containing several examples of priceless prototype synthetic plants, imported from Ytris I’s near neighbour G’morain. He had been examining them, fascinated by their intricate designs – technology disguised as elegant plants with leaves of purple, green and gold – and he had failed to sense the immediate danger. He could no longer see them, but they must be there. He was sitting on the floor. He could touch that and feel it smooth and slightly warm under his fingers, like duraplast. If he rose and walked to the nearest wall, he could probably touch that, but he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to try. 

“Keep your focus,” he said aloud. Again, the sound had no reverberation.

The room seemed to be sealed off from the Force. He’d rarely known such complete separation, even in his previous period of captivity. “That _is_ impossible,” he reminded himself. The walls, floor, and plants might be artificial, the air recycled, but none of that should prevent him from accessing the Force. The problem must therefore lie in him. The Chief Scientist here had demonstrated the uses the synthetic vegetation could be put to in helping to create or maintain atmosphere. If that was so, then these plants could as easily emit something harmful as beneficial. Most substances were both when looked at from different points of view. The beautiful, artificial plants were also a weapon.

Obi-Wan risked standing and stepped uncertainly forward, his hands hitting the wall, or possibly the door. It had been sealed so closely, it was hard to tell the difference.

“Jedi?” said a thin, crackly voice from somewhere above him.

Obi-Wan turned, leaning back against the wall, and raised his head. “I’m not –” he began, and then checked himself. That distinction was irrelevant now. “What do you want?” he said. “Why don’t we talk it over in a more civilised fashion? We might be able to come to an agreement.”

“I have what I want,” said the voice. “A convenient test subject. I do apologise. This will probably be quite painful.”

Obi-Wan heard the click of the monitor switching off and held his breath, frowning. A test? Of what nature? And why tell him? Perhaps they wanted him to panic.

He might easily oblige them soon. Being contained in what amounted to a Force-vacuum was unnerving. And what of Padmé? If she was no use to them, how did they intend to deal with her? 

Obi-Wan turned to face the unseen wall again, pressing both fingers and forehead against it, to remind himself that there was something real here before he entirely lost sight of that fact. There were two pertinent points to bear in mind. One, he could not escape from this room without outside intervention, whether by any member of the Institute opening the door, or Padmé coming to his rescue. Whatever was happening outside, he must leave to Padmé.

Two, if this research was intended to find ways to disarm and defeat Jedi, then he had only one option open to him to frustrate the aims of his captors. It went against every part of his training, but he must give in. Skew the results, let them fatally underestimate the Jedi and their ability to use the Force.

It was not a pleasant thought. He’d just have to hope Padmé turned up soon – and that they started slow and weren’t feeling inclined to, say, chop parts off him.

* * *

_(Just Under) One Year Before_

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been in Padmé’s apartment for less than one week before she had decided that, as bodyguards went, he was completely impossible. Despite what she’d heard, she’d suspended judgement, wanting to take him on his own merits. She had even been prepared to be sympathetic to his plight, but Obi-Wan, when he turned up, required no sympathy from her. He gave no indication of his current awkward position in the Order. He performed his duties with competence and appeared impeccable in his Jedi robes, and deflected even the mildest personal question with a faint, polite smile and a swift return to the business in hand. Aside from a few moments when a gleam in his blue eyes or a quirk of the lips betrayed amusement, he seemed to be permanently locked in neutral.

To think she’d foolishly imagined he might even be _company_ , she reflected ruefully as T-4NU helped her out of the navy and light blue dress she’d worn for her address to the Interplanetary Relief Aid Committee.

He seemed to have two modes of existence. The first and foremost was being virtually invisible. He faded into the background around the place, which Padmé found intensely irritating. She was getting chronic headaches from having to focus hard on whichever part of her living quarters she suddenly and inexplicably wanted to ignore in order to see where he was.

Today Obi-Wan had opted for his second mode, which consisted of being inconveniently visible and very much in the way. He had thrown her entire apartment into disarray before they had left earlier. It looked as if every piece of technology in the place was now lying in pieces on the living area floor.

Padmé sighed as T-4NU helped her fasten a simpler, clinging turquoise dress, then she hurried back out again, trying not to trip over anything. She would have liked to stop and argue but she didn’t want to be late for lunch with the Chancellor when Palpatine had so little time to spare.

“What are you doing?” she said as they walked out of the door. 

Obi-Wan glanced up. “What does it look like, my lady?”

“Hunting for spycams or anything else out of place, I imagine?”

Obi-Wan inclined his head. “Necessary measures, you will agree.”

“Did you find anything?”

He merely smiled obscurely and ushered her into the elevator. When Padmé gave its control panel a wary look, Obi-Wan leaned in nearer and said, “You’re perfectly safe.”

“I suppose you think I’m imagining things, too?” she said, nettled, but the elevator door opened before he could respond. Palpatine was already waiting outside, leaving her no time to continue the conversation. Padmé moved forward with a smile, stretching out her hand for Palpatine to take. Behind her, she could almost _feel_ Obi-Wan fading into the background again.

Why that irritated her quite so much she couldn’t have said. Which was part of the reason why later, when they prepared to leave the private room in the Chancellor’s favourite restaurant, and Palpatine turned back to offer her a spare ticket for tonight’s opera if she wanted it, Padmé accepted.

She _had_ wanted to catch Irrukarru’s performance of the famous Wookiee solo before he retired, it was true. But she was also pretty sure that studying opera was not on the general Jedi curriculum and _Tantress and the Wookiee_ was infamously long, even when performed over several nights as it generally was. Honestly, it served Obi-Wan right.

“I shall be at the meeting for the Emergency Refugee Fundraising Society,” she informed him once they returned to the apartment, at her most regal and not allowing for any debate. “I’ll be taking Forennu, so I won’t need you. Please try and tidy all this up before I return – and then we shall be going to the opera.”

She hadn’t meant to sound quite so imperious, but when she turned to look at him, half-inclined to apologise, she thought he was only biting back amusement.

“That won’t be a problem, my lady,” he said. “Although I don’t think T-4NU is sufficient protection. I should come with you.”

“I disagree,” said Padmé, raising her chin and waiting for him to return to his obviously important duties of wrecking her apartment.

Once he had, she closed her eyes, feeling instantly guilty. Her annoyance had been stoked further by Palpatine’s supposedly comforting assurances about her safety, and how it would be a tragedy if she let her past experiences prevent her from living to the full and so on, at length, all the way through the meal, and it wasn’t fair to take that out on Obi-Wan only for trying to do his job.

She sighed, but reflected that they didn’t have to stay for the whole performance. She could talk to Obi-Wan afterwards, and see if they could find a more mutually convenient way of managing their current situation. Surely it ought to be possible.

Except, as it turned out, that was not how the evening went at all.

Padmé heard the celebrated Wookiee solo as if from a very great distance. She struggled to turn her head, but the pain was blinding.

“Don’t move,” Obi-Wan said. He sounded closer than the singing, but still a long way off. She felt his hand on her shoulder, restraining her gently. “Your injuries aren’t severe, but you must remain still.”

Injuries? That must be why her head hurt so much. Padmé blinked and tried to focus on him, her vision blurring as he gave her an encouraging smile. His eyes seemed very, very blue.

From somewhere behind him, she could hear the Chancellor in mid sentence, his voice fading in and out strangely, “I really am most concerned – firing on a maintenance droid! At the _opera_. You know, I do have a suitable specialist she could see if –”

“Your Excellency,” murmured Obi-Wan. Padmé nearly laughed; his completely neutral, meaningless way of saying ‘my lady’ instead of arguing when he disagreed with her had been another irritation, but it was oddly comforting to hear him using the same tone against the Chancellor. 

She thought Obi-Wan was saying something else, but now it sounded as if he was speaking underwater. She closed her eyes. It seemed like too much effort to keep them open.

“My lady,” said Obi-Wan more urgently, squeezing her hand, while raising her against him. “Padmé. Stay with me.”

She dragged herself back from the depths and tried again to focus on him. Her head was still throbbing, but it seemed a little easier. “I thought you said it wasn’t bad.”

“It isn’t,” he said with a quick grin. “No need to make it worse than it is, though. Here.” He pressed a glass of Jawa juice to her lips and Padmé managed to swallow some. Then he glanced up. “I’d rather not move you, but you can’t stay here. It’s far too open and crowded to guarantee your safety.” The brisk note in his voice softened. As he shifted his hold on her, readying himself to lift her into his arms, he added with a tinge of exasperation, “I’m supposed to be protecting _you_ , not the other way around.”

Padmé remembered now – the maintenance droid that had floated in without reason, the way she’d heard it arming itself and turned to see it about to dispose of her bodyguard with a laser bolt. She’d shot it. At closer quarters than was ideal, she realised, and leaned against Obi-Wan with a groan, putting her other hand up to get a grip on his robes. She found herself catching her breath at feeling his warmth and solidity against her, unused now to such nearness to another being.

“Come on,” he said in her ear as he tightened his hold on her. “Let’s go.”

She must have passed out again, since the next thing she knew, she was lying on her couch in the apartment, propped up by cushions with an unfamiliar Med-Droid floating next to her.

Padmé sat sharply, instinctively shrinking away from the droid.

“It’s all right,” said Obi-Wan, crossing over. “This is X5, an old friend of mine from MedCorps. I thought, given the trouble you seem to be having with droids lately, it might be the best option.”

Padmé turned her head and gave X5 a smile. “Sorry. No offence, X5. It’s just that I’ve been nearly killed by an elevator and a maintenance droid already this week.”

“Perfectly understood, Miss Padmé,” X5 said, hovering at her elbow. Its voice was light and reassuring. “The injury to your head was not severe and I have removed the shrapnel, applied stitches and a bacta patch; and to your arm, for the burns. I’ve also administered a painkiller. If you feel sleepy, that will be why. Not to worry, rest is what’s needed now. I’ll come tomorrow to be sure you are progressing normally, but I don’t see any cause for concern.”

Padmé pulled herself up against the pillows, pressing her good hand to the bacta pad on her temple. It stung under the pressure. 

“Thank you, X5,” she said. “I’m very grateful for your assistance.” She blinked, finding that it wasn’t wrong about the drugs making her feel drowsy, and looked over at Obi-Wan. “I thought Qui-Gon said you were in the AgriCorps.”

Obi-Wan halted and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Ah, yes. True. I was, but after that I was in SecuriCorps, where I was assigned to protect a MedCorps mission, which was how I met X5.”

“Until you ran away,” added X5 helpfully. It turned its head to Padmé, the blue glow of its eye-lights steady. “I was very sorry when he left us. I hope he will do better in his duties here.”

Obi-Wan, who’d been about to move forward to help Padmé up, halted. “X5, you’re exaggerating and you’ll have me dismissed. I asked for permission to attend to a, well, a personal matter, and then it took considerably longer than I anticipated.”

“Oh,” said Padmé, not really in a state to come up with any more complex reaction. “I suppose as long as you don’t do it again, it’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan frowned at the Med-Droid.

“He was most satisfactory before that,” said X5, evidently trying to make amends. “I should go, shouldn’t I?”

It floated out and Obi-Wan turned his head to watch it leave, before looking back at Padmé.

She only gave a minute shake of her head and got to her feet. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m going to bed.” She took an unsteady step forward and saw Obi-Wan’s face crease in concern.

“If you fall over,” he said, “I shall only have to call X5 back again.”

Padmé blinked away tears and let him put an arm around her and help her into the bedroom. “That droid was going to fire on you. I _saw_ it.”

“I know,” he said. “Even aside from the worrying fact of the monitoring devices I found earlier, I’d checked your box thoroughly. The droid had no legitimate reason to be there. I sensed the danger – I would have stopped it without causing any explosions. You must trust me to do my job, my lady. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Padmé lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. “I had to,” she said, a lump forming in her throat. “I’m not letting anyone else die.”

“I see,” he said, after a moment of silence, but when Padmé managed to lift her head, he had gone, and she was left to drift into a semi-dreaming state, floating uneasily between the smoke and the shouting and pain, the way it had felt, being in his arms, and X5’s inadvertent, worrying admission.

Before she finally fell asleep, she concluded that she had been right all along – as bodyguards went, Obi-Wan Kenobi was impossible.

* * *

_Now_

What happened next was something Obi-Wan was unclear on. He still couldn’t see anything, formless and numb in the darkness without the Force, but something had changed, allowing him to regain consciousness.

He tried to sit up, and failed, but felt the solid smoothness of the floor under his fingers, and on the left side of him, something wet that might be blood. His? It was probably as well he felt so little.

The door opened slowly in front of him, and he blinked in the light, temporarily unable to see for the brightness as much as for the dark. He managed to lift his head and then fell back as someone slipped inside.

“Obi-Wan,” said Padmé, kneeling down beside him. She put out a hand to brush the hair back from his face, the tips of her fingers tracing a light line across his forehead. Dismay clouded her gaze. “What did they _do_?”

He closed his eyes in relief. “I’m not sure. I suspect I won’t like the answer. What kept you?”

“Ungrateful man,” she said and took hold of his right hand, squeezing his fingers gently. “It wasn’t easy. They told me they’d arrested you. I had to see every official in the place to demand to know what you’d done. Then I told them I wasn’t leaving until I’d seen that all the correct procedures had been followed. I insisted they prove they were holding you in accordance with the laws of the Republic, and that you had legal representation.”

“I suppose it’s reassuring to know that if I should commit any crimes, you’ll ensure I’m apprehended _properly_.”

Padmé shook her head, and stroked his cheek, smoothing down his beard. “They weren’t very forthcoming, as you’d imagine, given that it was all a lie. I had to put a blaster to the Director’s head before they started giving me any real answers. But never mind that – can you walk? We need to leave.”

Obi-Wan tried and failed to move again. Sensation was returning, but not as fast as he would have liked. “In time, yes. How long do we have?”

“I don’t think you should stay in here,” she said, her forehead creasing in concern. “It doesn’t seem to be good for you.” 

“Yes, I’ve taken against synthetic vegetation. A sudden whim. Can’t think why.”

Padmé rose and moved around him, crouching down again to grip his shoulders and then she dragged him out across the floor, its smoothness aiding her progress.

Outside of the room, away from the artificial plants and breathing uncontaminated air, he could begin to sense the Force again. In contrast to the silence he’d endured, what started as a whisper all around him became deafening. He was reminded, unwonted, of the other time he’d emerged from a silent prison into a forest, teeming with life.

“No need to shout,” he murmured, and passed out.

* * *

_Before (One Year Minus One Month)_

Padmé was sure she was being followed. She breathed a curse under her breath and kept close to the buildings as she moved through the crowds of the Lower Levels, keeping an eye out for a way to shake off her tail – if she really had one. She couldn’t see whoever it was, but she kept feeling as if there was something eluding her out of the corner of her eye. She frowned. Maybe she should have let Obi-Wan in on this side of her affairs, after all. But no one had ever taken an interest her little trips before, and now –

A sudden suspicion seized her. Padmé halted in the middle of the walkway, causing several beings to collide with her, cursing and shoving. She pulled away from them, putting her hand to the blaster under her jacket in case, and squinted hard, searching for a familiar cloaked figure in the places her mind didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Hello,” said Obi-Wan, suddenly beside her, lowering his hood. “You spotted me. I’d be impressed if I wasn’t too busy being appalled by your recklessness.”

Padmé started walking again, Obi-Wan falling into step with her. “I’ve had practice. I wish you’d stop doing that. If I’d wanted something to lurk in the shadows in my apartment, I’d have bought an over-sized house plant. Do you have a reason or were you just trying to scare me?”

“Maybe it’ll bring you to your senses and you’ll stop wandering about the underside of Coruscant pretending to be your former handmaiden.” He hesitated, then frowned at her. “Did you think that would fool me?”

Padmé stared ahead. “No. I thought I gave you the evening off. Apparently you still haven’t gotten the hang of that concept.”

“I don’t suppose whoever is trying to kill you takes the evening off.”

She shrugged. “They must. Sometimes I go whole months without any attempts on my life.”

“We need to talk,” said Obi-Wan. “Either you don’t trust me, in which case I’m no use to you, or you’re meeting nefarious contacts that you think I won’t approve of, in which case, I’m not sure how I feel about this assignment, either.”

Padmé felt a spark of anger. After a month in her employ, did he think she was organising some sort of crime ring on her outings into the Lower Levels? “Oh?”

“I don’t really believe the latter,” he said, more softly, shielding her from a swaying drunk Twi’lek as they approached the entrance to the building that held her apartment. “But the former is bad enough if I’m supposed to protect you.”

Padmé gave a nod as she stopped in the doorway. “Yes. I should have explained sooner, but it’s important and I’ve fallen out of the habit of trusting anyone except my own people. Besides, what am I supposed to make of Qui-Gon foisting you on me? Have one failed Jedi Padawan, only one previous owner, probably not all that careful –”

Obi-Wan winced.

“Sorry,” she said, and pressed the code into the door. “You’re right. We must talk. And I’m sure Sabé needs to get home. I’m late already without having you turn up and complicate things.”

* * *

_Now_

Everything seemed to be returning in stages. First, consciousness of a sort, and Padmé frowning down at him, stroking his face. That wasn’t so bad. Next, the Force, a loud chorus of life in every part of the room and beyond, coming and going in waves as yet, but reassuringly there. After that, the pain. He became aware of multiple stinging cuts from sharp-edged leaves, fading when measured against the more insistently painful gash on his left arm. When he tried to move it to look, he halted with a wince, having a warning feeling that it was also broken.

The pain was not the last thing to return to him. That was the rising sense of unreality, a fog that at least numbed the other mounting unpleasant sensations. Whatever they’d given him had not fully worn off. 

“Blast,” he said, still unable to co-ordinate himself enough to rise, instead pulling himself into a sitting position using the solid side of the control panel at his back.

Padmé put out a hand to steady him. “Just stay there, okay? Artoo is contacting Forennu and the ship and plotting the quickest way out of here, but I promised our hosts I’d rig the research centre before we go.”

“So now you’re working for my captors?” said Obi-Wan. “I might have known.”

She frowned again, and then waved a hand in a vague gesture of frustration. “Of course not. But it turned out they weren’t happy about the G’moree and their experiments, either. The G’moree blackmailed the Ytrians into this through the same technology they used to trap you. We came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. Just… sit there. You can do that, can’t you?”

“I _am_ supposed to be protecting you,” he reminded her, but too slowly. She’d already dashed off out of the room. 

Obi-Wan leaned his head back against the cold durasteel of the control section and closed his eyes momentarily, attempting to collect himself and steady his thoughts. It was unusually difficult. Memories of his former captivity intruded themselves unhelpfully. He abandoned his attempts and focused instead on the Force alone, finding peace again in its presence.

Opening his eyes once more, he contemplated doing as he was told and staying put, before deciding that would be ridiculous. Padmé could never have expected it of him. He pulled himself into a standing position, his right palm pressed against the sloped top of the control panel to keep him upright. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Below, through the transparisteel screen in front of him, he could see a larger, open area filled with more of the synthetic plants. Padmé was down there, darting between the artificial vegetation; now crouching down and fiddling with one of the wall panels. She’d said something about rigging the research centre, he realised, and a wry smile crossed his face. How very undiplomatic of her.

He looked at the equipment in front of him, schooling himself to rely on the Force, instead of his own unreliable perceptions. He had intended to skew their data with his responses, but he had little idea if that had worked – and no recorded data would be safer. He kept one hand on the panel so that he didn’t fall and raised the other, hovering over the switches and buttons, feeling for any sign of where they’d been recording the results.

There was a groan behind him. He turned to see the Chief Scientist he’d been talking to hours ago, before the man had locked him in the room. Stunned, but evidently not hard enough.

Obi-Wan turned, letting himself lean back against the control for support. He raised a hand even as the fallen scientist tried to lift his head, and the man’s blaster flew into Obi-Wan’s grasp.

The man hastily began to scrabble backwards on the ground, but he was already up against the opposite wall with nowhere to go.

Down below, Obi-Wan heard a crash and shots being fired. Even in his befogged state, he sensed the arrival of two droids. No, make that one, he thought, as he heard blaster fire and sensed that one of them had ceased to function. Padmé’s aim was good. Movement behind him in the Force warned him to turn in time to halt the Chief Scientist’s unwise attempt to rush him. A wave of Obi-Wan’s good hand sent him straight through the window, crashing down onto the remaining droid. There was a moment of comparative silence followed by a small, anti-climactic explosion.

Obi-Wan turned around cautiously, finding himself dizzier than he liked – and he’d forgotten the state his arm was in. It was now protesting loudly enough to pierce the fog that enveloped him. He pulled it in against his chest as he leaned forward, peering through the jagged shards that now framed the screen.

“Obi-Wan!” Padmé shouted up from below. “I told you to stay where you were! I’m handling this. I’ll explain everything once we’re back on the ship.”

She had a point. The scientist’s flight through the window had been accidental overkill, and until he had proper control of himself, he shouldn’t risk any repeats of that; he might harm someone less deserving next time. “I won’t do it again,” he called back, then swayed forward, almost falling onto the panel.

He collected himself and turned before sliding down to the floor against the side of the control unit. The test results, he reminded himself. He needed to find them. His gaze fell on a datapad on the floor, right where the Chief Scientist had been lying. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold metal behind him, raising his hand. The datapad flew past him, threw the broken window and broke on the floor below. He cursed his current lack of co-ordination, but if it had contained those records of pain, they were gone now.

Obi-Wan rose too sharply to look and knocked a switch on the panel. A holo recording started playing – and nearly startled him right out of his haze. He wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating.

He stopped, drew on the Force for clarity, and replayed the fragmentary message.

It _was_ real – and it changed everything.

* * *

_One Year Before (Minus One Month)_

“Where have you _been_?” Sabé demanded, rising to her feet as Padmé entered the apartment. “You’re nearly an hour late. I was worried your second-hand Jedi might walk in before you did. I’d moved on to wondering whether or not that might be a good thing if you’d gone missing.”

Padmé shot Sabé a hasty but belated frown, even as Sabé turned her head and registered Obi-Wan’s presence behind her.

“Oh,” she said, and pulled a face. “Have we been busted?”

Padmé shook her head. “Be nice. And yes, and no. I’m almost sure we can trust him.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Sabé. “Do you want me to stay? I can make some calls and arrange it.”

Padmé laughed. If Obi-Wan wanted to murder her, he’d passed up a lot of opportunities in the last month and foiled a few of his own plots. “No. I’m sorry I was late. My business took longer than I expected – and then it turned out I was being followed.” She nodded towards Obi-Wan.

“I see,” said Sabé and smiled brightly at Padmé, who was still wearing a casual jacket, shirt and leggings, just as Sabé had been when she’d arrived. Sabé, meanwhile, was dressed in a full-skirted purple gown. “Let’s change.” Sabé turned back towards Obi-Wan before disappearing through the door. “Sorry about the second-hand comment.”

“It’s not even the first time it’s been said tonight,” he returned evenly. “Think nothing of it.”

“So,” said Padmé, sinking down onto her sofa, and looking up at Obi-Wan who had opted to remain standing, his arms folded against his chest. “You first. What did you do to make the AgriCorps repeatedly refuse to have you back?”

Obi-Wan turned. “Repeatedly?” he said, his voice lifting in genuine surprise. “That seems excessive. How did _you_ know that?”

“I, er, have a partial transcript of a Jedi sub-council meeting,” said Padmé, her cheeks heating under his gaze. “X5’s revelations were worrying and you weren’t talking, so Sabé looked into it. I don’t ask how she does what she does, but she’s very good at it. So, what _is_ wrong with you?”

“If you must know – in Director Kar Jerru’s own words, I was unnecessarily heroic. It was not meant as a compliment.”

Padmé put a hand to her mouth. “And MedCorps?”

“SecuriCorps,” he corrected her evenly. “I was never in MedCorps, only assigned to assist one of their missions.”

Padmé waited, and when he didn’t continue, she sighed. She wanted to trust him – in many ways she did already or they wouldn’t be having this conversation – but if she let him in on her work and he wasn’t absolutely reliable, then she was putting other people at risk and that was unacceptable.

“I’m sorry,” said Obi-Wan eventually. “It’s only that it’s complicated.”

Padmé nodded. She’d suspected as much. “Whatever you were doing, it was connected to your Trials?”

“Yes,” he said in relief. “I thought I had the chance to get some answers, but I was mistaken. By that time, unfortunately, I was a few days later than I had intended to be and –” He gave a shrug. “Here I am.”

Padmé leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I got the impression Qui-Gon thought something had happened – with the Trials, I mean. That there had been some interference.”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, causing Padmé to blink at his abruptness. He pulled a face. “It’s not – it’s not like that. If something happened, then that must be part of it. I _did_ fail. That is not in question.”

“What _can_ you tell me?”

He walked across to the window and stared at the streams of speeders flying past. “I was held captive for a while. I escaped.” He pulled back around and said, in a lighter tone, “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t tell the Council much more than that, either.”

“I’m not sure it is.”

“No, you’re right. That’s the part they had difficulty with, too.” He shrugged. “I accepted the consequences of that decision, but I should have been more careful afterwards. I should have made more of an effort to adapt to the AgriCorps. I won’t make that mistake again – and I am capable of protecting you. You can trust me, despite my history.”

“I do,” said Padmé with a small, uneven twist of her mouth.

Obi-Wan’s wariness eased, his shoulders lowering. “Thank you. What about you, my lady? If it helps, I feel certain that if you’re having secret meetings, you have good reason.”

She closed her eyes, because it wasn’t something she talked about much, either, and it was harder to begin than she’d expected. “I failed, too. I should have returned to Naboo – I should have ended the invasion before the Trade Federation got a grip on the planet. But I stayed here and talked myself hoarse before the Senate, at committee meetings, even at the trial. None of it changed anything. So, I thought if the Republic was no longer able to act against the Trade Federation, then someone else had better do so.”

Obi-Wan watched her with an unexpected warmth in his gaze that made Padmé glance away in confusion and her heartbeat quicken. “You being that someone else, of course.”

“I had to do something,” she said, lifting her head. “After my term ended and they finally got around to electing a more persuadable Queen, I couldn’t retain a royal retinue at the Senate’s expense, but we made a virtue of necessity. Several of them went back home to Naboo.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’d gathered that much. I hear they have done some excellent work in, er, loosening Trade Federation controls.”

“You knew?”

He laughed. “I may only be a second-hand Jedi, but give me some credit. My employer was being worryingly secretive. I also made enquiries.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” said Padmé, making a guilty face at his use of Sabé’s phrase. “It was only –”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I may not care for it, but I take the point. What happened to the other half of your former retinue?”

“They’re working more widely across the galaxy, hunting down useful information and any other legitimate means to stop the Federation from destroying more planets the way they did with Naboo. I pass what’s relevant on to people I meet at various committees and charity work – those who still seem capable of action.” Padmé shrugged. “However, I have some more sensitive contacts I need to deal with in person. That’s what I was doing this evening.”

“This kind of thing, my lady, is why people want to kill you.”

Padmé narrowed her gaze, but she was holding back laughter with difficulty. “You’re not supposed to sound as if you sympathise with them.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I thought we’d already established that.”

Padmé rose. “You’ll stay, then?”

“Of course.” He grinned. “I feel certain you will make good use of me.”

Padmé smiled, more relieved than she could have imagined a month ago. “I wish I’d told you sooner, but –” She shrugged. “You see how precarious my position is. I don’t even let the Chancellor in on any of this.”

“And I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said Obi-Wan. “He’s a politician. They’re not to be trusted.”

Padmé couldn’t argue: in her heart of hearts, she agreed. “We’ll figure out a way to fit you into the network later, but there is something else I wanted to talk to you about. You’re working for me now. If I give you the evening off, I want you to take it. I know, you’re technically still with the Order, but you can’t be on duty every hour of every day. The Republic has laws against that sort of thing.”

“I can always meditate,” he said.

Padmé held back from rolling her eyes, but only with considerable effort. “I expect you can, but aren’t you also here to try life outside the Jedi Order? Forgive me, but isn’t that one of the reasons Qui-Gon sent you to me?”

“I hadn’t thought,” said Obi-Wan, sounding distant. “I’d accepted that I made a choice that day before the Council.” He turned around. “But perhaps I’ve never truly considered the full implications – what that choice actually entailed.”

Padmé moved forward. “Well, you can start by actually taking time off when I tell you to. Do you need me to show you how?”

“I’m not sure it would count as time off in that case. It certainly wouldn’t be very professional.”

Padmé glanced away, because now that their most immediate questions had been answered, she was suddenly conscious that they were standing here not as dignitary and bodyguard, but as Padmé and Obi-Wan, and that was a very different matter. She’d been stranded in a highly isolated position. She didn’t think, from the sound of it, that his had been much better. Why shouldn’t they find some compensation in each other’s company? What would be wrong in that? She had to stifle her thoughts in case he could sense the shift in her interest. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Lost in her current train of thought, Padmé felt her face heat, too flustered for a moment to be sure whether or not she’d seen a gleam of amusement in his eyes, or if the question had been innocent. It probably had, she told herself firmly. He was still a Jedi. She’d have to work her way up slowly to the other kinds of thoughts she was having.

“I hadn’t got as far as specifics,” she lied, and deflected his curious look with her best politician’s smile.

* * *

_Now_

“Lie still, Obi-Wan,” Padmé said, leaning over him, putting a light hand to his shoulder to keep him from rising. “You’re not yourself yet.”

Getting him back to the ship in his current state couldn’t have been easy, he knew, although his memories of the specifics were mercifully hazy. He did recall that by the time they’d reached the vessel, T-4NU had to help Padmé half-carry him on board and once they’d got him to the tiny Med-Bay, he’d either dozed or partially lost consciousness again. Now, things felt much clearer than they had for a while. 

He stared up at Padmé’s concerned face and raised his good hand to touch her cheek. “I’m much better now.”

“Are you?” she said, and perched on the edge of the couch, shaking her head at him. “I think that’s just comparative. You looked like death when we got you on board.”

Despite her instructions, Obi-Wan tried to sit, and felt the pain in his left arm sharpen despite the bacta patch she’d placed on it. “We got safely away?”

“As I said, the Ytrians weren’t happy with the deal they’d made with the G’moree. I offered them a better one. So, yes, we’re clear, and there’s no sign of anyone in pursuit. We’ll take a detour in case, though – that should shake anyone off. I’m pretty sure they were telling the truth, but I won’t take any chances.”

Obi-Wan lay back and contemplated his immediate view, which was charming if a little misty. “You know, you’re particularly beautiful when you’re worried… or is that annoyed?”

“See what I mean?” said Padmé, and kissed him carefully on the cheek. “Not yourself at all.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Are you saying I’m not usually complimentary?”

“You can be,” said Padmé, “but generally only in the middle of complaining about my recklessness and appalling disregard for my own safety, and telling me you have a bad feeling about all my best plans.”

“Well, yes, true. This is a classic example.”

She smiled. “Hardly. You’re the one who didn’t have a proper regard for their safety this time. Although you must be improving – according to you, I was a goddess when Forennu and I got you on board.”

“Wait,” said Obi-Wan. Things _were_ becoming a great deal clearer and his discovery in the observation gallery returned to him. He sat sharply, stifling a wince as he jolted the bad arm again. “Padmé, I found something – something vital. We must go directly to the Jedi Temple once we reach Coruscant.”

Padmé drew back, a crease forming between her brows. “Obi-Wan, are you sure –?”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m saying.” He pulled out the recording, which he’d transferred onto a single-use device. “This isn’t delirium. Watch.”

The blue-light images flickered into life between them. Even on a secondary recording, Obi-Wan sensed the cloud of malevolence that surrounded the main figure – an unknown being in a dark, hooded cloak. 

“This was sent to the Chief Scientist at the Institute,” he said.

The figure turned its head and delivered its brief message: “I’m sending you my apprentice. He will instruct you further.” Out of the shadows, another, taller figure took shape behind him, this one recognisable as Count Dooku, former Jedi. He’d recently become leader of a group known as the Separatists, who felt the Republic had failed and wanted to break away. The last time Obi-Wan had seen Dooku was not at the Temple as a Jedi Master, but as his captor on an otherwise uninhabited moon. 

“The Ytrian Governor said that the Chief Scientist and the G’moree were in league with Count Dooku and the Separatists,” Padmé said. “Giving the Ytrians the technology to force them to join them or they’d take it back again and leave them worse off than before. But who is the other one?”

Obi-Wan turned off the device, glad to be looking at Padmé and not the sinister holo images. “Good question. I don’t know – but I know _what_ he must be. There have been rumours for years that the Sith have returned, but they have remained only rumours – until now. If this being calls Dooku his apprentice, then that means –” He cut himself short, not ready to go over that tale again, but Dooku being a Sith placed the sequence of events surrounding his Trials in a completely different light. He’d always assumed it had been personal, because Dooku had been Qui-Gon’s Master. That was probably untrue.

“Oh,” said Padmé, evidently following a similar line of thought. She pulled back from him. “Count Dooku is the one who interfered. Your Trials – all that time ago. And if it was these – these Sith, then it wasn’t your fault. You could go back to the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan almost dropped the holo-device, propping himself up in order to address her. “Padmé –”

“No,” she said. “Of course. You belong with the Order. They should never have let you go.”

He caught her hand before she could rise and walk away, his fingers closing around hers. “You know that’s not how it was. I made the decision myself when I chose not to trust the Council with the truth. They would certainly not reconsider it now.”

“I see,” said Padmé. She lowered her gaze, angling her head away from him.

“Padmé,” he said, keeping hold of her hand. She should know this. He’d thought she had, and he felt a pang of regret that clearly he had not made his feelings as plain to her as he should have. “I don’t believe for a moment that it was the Sith that knocked me out of my path all those years ago. It took me a long time to discover the will of the Force, to find where I belonged, but I believe I have.”

She squeezed his hand and turned back to smile, blinking away tears, as she studied his face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said and, there being little else he could do in his current state, he raised her hand to his lips before lowering it again. “Besides, who would protect you if I weren’t here?”

Padmé glanced down at him and then laughed. “Yes, you’re doing such a good job of that, aren’t you?”

“Today has not been my best,” he agreed mildly before releasing her. “Padmé, we’ll talk about this again, but first, you must be sure we’re not being followed – we must get to the Jedi Temple as quickly as possible.”

“Of course,” she said, rising. “I promise. It’s a good idea anyway – I’ll feel much happier if the Temple healers take a look at you. We still don’t know what they did to you.”

Obi-Wan had to concede that she was probably right.

* * *

_Before_

“It’s all right,” said Padmé, propping herself up on the carpet as Obi-Wan fought with the outer layers of her elaborate dress. “It’s not my blood. Mostly.”

Obi-Wan nodded, putting a hand to her cheek as if measuring something. “So I see. _Mostly_ ,” he added, and his lips compressed. “Padmé. Must I remind you of the point of a bodyguard again?”

“I’m alive,” said Padmé, though she felt her ribs ache when she moved, and the cut to her side stung. “So are you. I’m not complaining.”

Obi-Wan got the blood-soaked lace outer dress off her and carried her over to the couch. “You should be. I should have never let an intruder get this close. I should have known T-4NU had been compromised.”

“Don’t,” Padmé said, pressing the back of her fingers to his cheek. “Obi-Wan. It wasn’t your fault. And you checked Forennu twice this week already.”

“You should not have done it,” he said, kneeling down beside her, avoiding the inconvenient corpse of the Rodian assassin still lying on the floor where he’d fallen. “It was my place to take that blade.”

Padmé had been rather enjoying the post-altercation fussing, if she was honest. Now she frowned and sat up, ignoring her bruises and the sting of the cut from the vibroblade her assassin had thrown at them. “It missed me – mostly. It would have hit you. You’re a Jedi. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“True, I admit,” he said, “but it’s my place to –”

“Die unnecessarily? Incapacitate yourself so I have to find a new bodyguard? Thanks!” Padmé put a hand to her side and winced.

“It would be worth it.”

She forgot her minor aches and put a hand to his shoulder, her gaze fixed on his as he moved nearer, brushing his fingers lightly against her cheek before dropping them again; so close she thought he was going to kiss her, but then he lowered his head, although he didn’t move away. She felt her heart thudding hard enough against her chest that it ought to have been painful. She thought he must be able to hear it, but he gave no response.

“Obi-Wan,” she said. When he looked up she added, her voice unsteady, “I disagree.”

He held her gaze. “A difference of opinion I don’t suppose we will ever resolve, then.”

“Never,” said Padmé. She pulled back as best as she could, pressing herself against the couch, clenching her hands into fists in order to resist the temptation to run her fingers through his hair. If she leaned forward again, she could kiss him. She was already alive with the awareness of him and she wondered what it would feel like. She swallowed and took a breath, determined to bury her inappropriate thoughts.

He was a Jedi, and she had no right to interfere with that. He’d already been subject to enough obstacles in his path with the Order. She would not be another. She tried to smile, but it didn’t feel very convincing. “I’ll miss you when you have to return to the Jedi,” she said. “Your disciplinary period with SecuriCorps must nearly be over, mustn’t it? I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your situation.”

Obi-Wan failed to respond. He merely watched her, tilting his head to one side, as if bemused.

“I trust, of course, that you’ll keep my confidences,” she continued somewhat wildly, flustered by his failure to reciprocate her efforts to restore the conversation to a professional status. 

Obi-Wan took her hand. “Padmé, is there going to be much more of this nonsense?”

“Nonsense?” she said, straightening up in immediate indignation. “I was trying –”

“To lie,” he finished for her. “Very considerately – charmingly, in fact – and I appreciate it, but it is unnecessary. What if I stayed?”

Padmé swallowed back inconvenient tears as she stopped fighting her inclination and reached out to stroke his hair, damp from the fight. “Would you?”

“Gladly, my lady,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist, as Padmé kissed him lightly on the mouth, resting her other hand on his shoulder to steady herself. It was only a small gesture, but for both of them it was crossing a line. She’d been so careful, so alone till now, she felt almost guilty even at this much.

She pushed the illogical guilt away firmly, and kissed Obi-Wan again with more confidence and, as she pulled back briefly, stroked his beard with her thumb. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, feeling the rough texture of his robes, and smelled blood and smoke, as always seemed to be the case when she wound up in his arms. She choked back an unsteady laugh. “I’ll admit it might be nice to have moments like this without having to be injured first.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” he said, as he turned his face to kiss her hair, “but I’m not sure any of this is very professional.”

* * *

_Now_

“We’re on course,” said Padmé, returning to perch lightly on the couch beside Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan turned his head, having drifted off in the meantime. Dreams of forests – one beautifully constructed to deadly purpose, the other real – faded as he registered her presence. “Good,” he said, and gave a vague smile.

“What was it Count Dooku did, all those years ago?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me, but I wondered if it might be connected.”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. The two incidents were not related, save through him, but he should have told her before. He’d rather have let it lay buried, but it seemed to have a habit of resurfacing in new ways, and there was no reason Padmé shouldn’t know. “There’s not much to tell. I thought before it was deliberate and I didn’t want to explain to the Council, in case it might hurt Qui-Gon; in case that was what Dooku wanted. Looking back, I didn’t want to seem as if I was making excuses for myself, either. I see now that it was nothing of the sort. He had far larger schemes in mind.” 

At this distance in time, it was easier to see that he had not been as detached or calm about the matter as he should have been, that day before the Council, still too close to the ordeal. There had been remnant feelings of resentment, of abandonment. So, he had not been prepared to share the burden of his secret; to trust them as he should have done. If he had, he would not have failed. 

“I stumbled into the middle of one of Dooku’s schemes on an unnamed forest moon circling a dead planet in the Outer Rim, and he took me prisoner.”

“How long were you there?” Padmé asked, slipping her hand into his.

“I don’t know,” he said. Time’s passing rapidly became hard to judge accurately in the darkness of an ancient dungeon. Did it feel like forever because it had been weeks or months, or only because of the lack of markers to measure time’s passing? Day and night had been easier to keep track of outside in the forest, but it had been all too easy to lose count. He’d fought the one by meditating, his focus on the presence of the Force and waiting for the opportunity of escape that he knew would come; the other had been a matter of work and patience and further meditation while carefully hiding himself in the Force. If anyone had been looking for him, he would have been almost impossible to find.

“I escaped, but it was nowhere near any of the regular trade routes and Dooku had already left. I had to wait and work on staying alive and hidden, in case he came back, until a stray ship finally arrived.”

Padmé squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. I’d better go and see if Forennu is okay in the cockpit, but I’ll come right back.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “I should have told you before.”

Padmé looked down at him. “Maybe, but –” She shook herself and rose, before turning back. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Well, we can argue about that later,” he said, but after she’d gone, he smiled up at the ceiling of the ship, warmth filling him. He believed her.

* * *

_Before (1 week and counting)_

“I don’t like it,” said Sabé.

Obi-Wan had his arms folded, as he looked at Padmé. “My thoughts precisely. It seems very odd that they’ve asked for you specifically.”

“The Ytrians say they’ve had an offer from the Trade Federation,” Padmé explained, “but they want to talk to me about my experiences before they accept it. Apparently their neighbours, the G’moree have joined the Separatists. The Ytrians might be next. They’ve already sent the Republic’s last ambassador home. If they want me there, I have a duty to see if I can persuade them it’s in their best interests to remain in the Republic.”

Sabé raised her eyebrows. “They want you to go in person?”

“They said they also had some marvellous new technology that’s been vital in restoring their planet and I could take it to one of the Senate subcommittees on their behalf. A trade deal could be sufficient motive.”

The means of creating synthetic environments they’d mentioned had sounded fascinating – something that could have saved many lives in Padmé’s former refugee work. The Ambassador had shown her an example in his Coruscant suite, constructed to look like a plant: a delicate work of art with long stems, navy and orange leaves and white blooms that could mimic nature and help create an adjustable and controllable atmosphere when programmed correctly. As yet, the Ambassador had told her, the difficulty of production and the costs were prohibitive, but it might be possible with the backing of the Senate.

Obi-Wan frowned over it. “It sounds like a trap to me, but maybe springing it isn’t such a bad idea. It’s not the usual approach of the Trade Federation. If you have a new enemy, we should find out who they are.”

“Oh, good,” said Padmé and beamed. “I thought I’d have to work harder to persuade you.”

Obi-Wan glanced across at Sabé. “I didn’t say I’d agreed, or at least not without precautions. You two can still work the decoy business if you need to.”

“Yes, but I can’t spare Sabé,” said Padmé. “And she can’t address a room full of dignitaries as me, not like this. Besides, the Ytrian ambassador is escorting us there and he’s met me. It’s out of the question.”

Sabé said, “We could both go.” She glanced at Obi-Wan. “I take it that’s what you meant?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

Padmé shook her head. “As I said, Sabé has to stay. And if it is a trap, then at least someone’s left to continue the work if we get into trouble. Besides, Obi-Wan, are you saying you can’t protect me alone?”

“You can’t use that trick every time,” he said, folding his arms.

Padmé smiled. “I will as long as it works. Look, we should find out what this is about. If it _is_ a deliberate trap, then they’ll only try again, won’t they? Let’s deal with this now.”

Sabé and Obi-Wan exchanged a look. Sabé gave a shrug, reached for her jacket, and headed for the door. 

“Speaking of us swapping places,” said Sabé, turning back at the exit, “we have to come up with a better arrangement than this. As it stands, everybody thinks that your Jedi bodyguard spends his evenings off down in the Lower Levels with me, and it’s giving people completely the wrong impression about my love life, I can tell you.”

Padmé looked at Obi-Wan to find him looking at her, laughter in his eyes. 

“How appalling,” Obi-Wan said, turning slightly to address Sabé. “You have my sympathies.”

“I’ll deal with it after we get back,” promised Padmé. She didn’t have any ideas yet, but she’d think of something. She was good at diplomatic solutions, something she’d prove to both of them in the course of this mission.

* * *

_Now_

Obi-Wan drifted in and out of full wakefulness. Everything that should be in motion was in motion. Padmé was busy in the cockpit, and they were well on their way to the Temple. He had the device clasped in his good hand. All would be well.

“It won’t be long,” said Padmé, returning to the Med-Bay and sitting down beside him. “We should be making the jump from hyperspace shortly. We still seem to be clear of any pursuers, thank goodness.” She brushed his fringe back from his face. “How are you feeling?”

Obi-Wan smiled up at her. “Much better. I’ve been resting, as ordered.”

“I’m glad to see you finally doing what you’re told for once.” Padmé put her hand over his good one. 

“I am,” said Obi-Wan, but with resignation, “supposed to be protecting _you_.” Then he gave a smile. “All the same – thank you for the rescue. I was not having much fun.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly, so as not to set off any of his injuries again. “You’ll have to accept that I don’t think a good employer runs off leaving any of her employees in danger.”

“You’d have done the same for T-4NU, no doubt.”

Padmé drew back. “Well, I wouldn’t have kissed Forennu, but…”

“I thought as much.” He laughed softly. He shouldn’t be glad, of course; it would be much more sensible if she didn’t take such risks, but the human and fallible part of him was grateful not to have been left alone and trapped again. Everything was different now, and that was down to her. He _was_ glad.

Padmé was oblivious to his sentimental conclusions. She straightened up and said, “I’d like to point out that given that I also negotiated a deal with the Ytrians and helped drive the G’moree off their planet in exchange for the promise of Republic protection, it was just as well that I did.” 

“Yes, quite,” said Obi-Wan. “And blew up the Institute on the way out. Very diplomatic indeed. I’m impressed.”

Padmé’s smile widened. “Oh, good,” she said. “You must be better. You’re sounding _much_ more like your usual self.”

* * *

_Before (11 hours and counting)_

“This is very unprofessional.”

Padmé, lying next to Obi-Wan in the Ytrian hotel room, lifted her head, and then shook her head. “If you say that one more time, I’ll take you at your word and leave. Then where will you be?”

“Desolate, my lady,” he said. “Speaking of which, I don’t think this is a good idea. I feel certain now that this invitation is a trap. I sense danger here – and a great deal of fear.”

Padmé sat up, hugging her arms against herself. “I know. But I think the Governor may be genuine and if there’s a chance I can persuade them to remain in the Republic, I have to take it. And this technology really does seem to be everything they promised. We can’t leave yet.”

“Besides,” she added, with a mischievous smile, “I have you to protect me. What could possibly go wrong?”

Obi-Wan shot her a reproachful look. “Would you like a list?”

“No,” said Padmé, leaning over him and kissing him. “I have far more interesting plans for what to do in the meantime.”

“This is,” murmured Obi-Wan a few moments later, “extremely unprofessional.”


End file.
